All Chapters of DeVil in the Details.: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50
70 chapters
Chapter sixteen: Almostnearlydeadbutnotquite
Nothing has felt the same to him since California, everything was much colder.He could feel it in the air, it must have rained before he woke up on this particular day, as winter's full bloom approached in the city in the shape of snow. Leaving far and few parks partially filled with lonely runners braving the cold with breath like smoke in past empty basketball parks through some still colourful and dormant, damp and soppy trees, though what is left of their colours still warm from far in this quaint two storey apartment on third avenue down town Seattle.To Rowland it was home.He then sneezed, crossing his blue and white vertically striped pyjama pants tucked into his thick black socks and resting his legs upon the arms of his desk chair, slipping his thumbs through his scissor-punched sleeve holes in his long sleeved faded tee under a folded black fleece tracksuit top's sleeves for comfort as he starred out his bedroom window near his desk for a moment, rubbing his hand over his
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Mr. Goodbar in Sgt Pepper's lonely hearts club
And when it came to feelings; it felt like a drowning, violent, lukewarm sleep.Rowland's body and his mind were torn apart as one part of him turned into two as if they were always that way. Blurring this line between that word that defines what is real and what is not on a universal scale that made him feel small and insignificant through a long standing process. Stripping him of himself as if he were a mere blood orange, and just then, he swore he could tell where his existence stopped and where This existence began, surpassing his comprehension and seeping into this world, which was for some reason unquestionable in it's deafening silence,...it didn't make sense but it didn't need him to believe as it stood strong alone,... It sort of gave him the same feeling one might get when they see an old mountain, great and ancient. His body was simply a doorway, falling past and through a threshold and simply fell into This place like acidic gelatine ripping his bones from his very soul, s
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Paper Pomodoro
"Coffee?", he asked in Russian."As black as my soul.", Nick stated in his mother tongue as he sat down as his yes to the old man's offer, Ivan chuckled."You look tired.", Nick jousted jokingly, Ivan raised his already low sitting brow behind a groomed and greying goatee;"Ha, I'm always tired, my boy.", he smiled and exposed one silver canine."This place is, not like you...", Nick coolly pointed out."Brahms.", the old man answered clicking his fingers for a waiter, he then grabbed and stroked his cane made from his very own left femur bone as he waited to be assisted, "I enjoy French cuisine.", sitting up as straight as a broomstick, so much so that the double breasted coat he wore looked half folded as if he were a walking hanger as he ordered two coffees."You called?", Nick asked."Several new clients are interested.", Ivan answered."Marcel DuPont, a regular but I've heard things of a drug bust in recent months...", Nick patiently listened as Ivan continued whilst he reached f
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Dead Rosegold
That off-beat question and the like left them staggering from their champagne spangled fox trot and had put a stigmata in Rowland's words. Moments that blurred between the chronological lines of the moments after coming to.He wanted to apologize in any way that he could, but to say the word "sorry" just didn't feel as if it retained it's meaning over the years. Rowland himself has heard it from so many faces from memory. But usually people say it to shut someone up, then being right just never felt as satisfying as they would say.It helped however at times from the right people, he just didn't know if he was the right person to Nick.It was just a thought, but it just goes to show that you could stop wars with good weed, it smelt like damn good weed too. So tempting to Close his window and hot box as Nick drove fast and through the smoke. But that was before his nose clogged, Rowland laughed to himself sorrowfully.Why where they doing this to each other? Why did it hurt so fucking
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Chapter seventeen: Mister softee's troubles
OniminO...A mixture like blood and milk, marble of the deepest core a metallic ore of something unknown, the opulence of something unfathomable a treasure that makes obsolete yet untouchable, unattainable.Except for within the mind...Paint can only hold a colour but the colour is simply an idea of visual spectrum.The colour of vibrations...Maybe that's why each always had a mood so to speak...The reason for "why so blue?" and "seeing red"; but he never knew why green was envy?OniminO blue was a supposed blue that rhymed with gold, though it was a darker shade of blue than Rowland had imagined...Knowing that chorney would do just as well with the same thing.Black, he meant to say black.What did the words mean before it was given to this blue? Or is it simply a name for the means of categorisation, a collection of coordination like math. Do you then start from A?Well, red has always been seen to be a lustful and powerful colour the darker the shade and every cherry flavoured
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Babycakes is a Killer
Rowland fancied himself doughnuts yet he was still so far into his own head that he was already out the door as he sat on the dusty wood paneled floors, and once he focused on food, he couldn't even recall what he was thinking of before it. He was just sitting and watching paint dry as he tried to remember.Standing up in front of his large canvas with the further, pong, clink and ting of empty aerosol cans among large paint spluges on the floor and on cans and broke away from his thoughts as he quietly looked around for a T-shirt, somewhere...He then put on his sneakers, grabbed his keys and a jacket and started thinking about waffles and ice-cream.Settling in his car, he fixed the popped collar of Nick's dark denim jacket that which was accompanied by a jingle of familiar and now often used keys; Nick's jacket of course, still held the scent of burning roses. Now, it wasn't so much the fact that it was Nick's scent but more the fact that the smell alone was, soothing to Rowland mu
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{Exquisite Corpse Wine Soda}
The same went for Nick.Rowland felt that He didn't want to see him like this but he couldn't help it...Rowland could already see Nick walking away, silly him for caring.So he made it Fucking easier for the both of them.Rowland saw red, so angry that he went silent for a moment as he clenched his fists not having anything nice to say, until he caught his breath;"Pardon me, for the implosion. Y'know,...maybe you're fucking right.", he stated with a stiff sniff before looking down and sarcastically smirking spitefully; and with that he walked towards the entrance, turning away from Nick who abruptly swiveled and stopped Rowland with a rough left hand which pulled him back by the shoulder;"Don't fucking walk away-""Why!? What the fuck do you want from me!?", when Rowland turned around with unknown energy, he shoved Nick off once again and let His back hit the wall; Nick then pushed himself off the wall again and shoved back with force that made Rowland double back at attention;"Ho
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Feed the Pigs
A nervous wreck when he was alone, even so on how nervous he was when he first arrived here alone having not learned the language, at first the only real word he needed to use was "gratzi" as a black car drove him to Nick's supposedly casual location as they talked on the phone about his arrival whilst he subconsciously bit the skin off his own lip. But whenever Nick left and Rowland couldn't ignore the silence he would decide to stop looking out the window in otherwise comfortable hiding and actually explore with his new smart phone camera almost absent mindedly to his own linguistic plight and stress in general; that when faced with others, he would haphazardly mix the words that which he knew in Italian with Latin; earning looks from locals as if he was a loon, and that was just this one time for a chocolate chip chocolate gelato in the hopes that he wasn't the only one who could see the problem with this instance. Awkwardly sticking to English like the well dressed and lonely tour
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Chapter eighteen: Spilt Milk
SuperHydraulicInstantaneousTransporter, he recalled recently having heard it somewhere. Apart from being the most convenient mode of escaping, all it could really do was help him to escape his current situation as he waited. It posed as if it was Rowland's equivalent of Sugar Honey Iced Tea. As if saying it was as convenient as an instant transmission of some kind...Funny guy even when the joke's on him, this all in fact actually reminded him of a joke he had heard somewhere; a man walks into the doctor's office, says he can't stop feeling sad no matter what he does. The doctor then tells him that it's probably just a blue day, and says there's a clown in town named, let's say,...Bucky o'chuclkes, wait no, how about, Boohoo. The man broke down and cried with his head in his hands before he looks up and says, "But doctor, I am Boohoo."Everyone huffs something of a laugh, unless of course they've heard this one. Besides, who really laughs these days unless they need to.But with al
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Aphelia Drowning
Detective Saint-Jermaine then continued with a calculated yet grim tone; "Are you aware, that Miss. Jackson-Wyte has been missing, found dead as one of the victims of the fifteen skeleton murders, just last week?", she then unclipped and tossed an autopsy report as well as a few pictures of dried up flowers in on dried up white zombies Rowland could only hope to delete from his memories, all neatly numbered and taken from analytical close ups in some frames which did him the favour of helping him spot the wilting deep dark red spider lily about the hollow cackling face of a chipped and crooked toothed skelington in the left eye socket; a screen saver worthy picture no less and pointing straight at the camera...Mocking his every effort of evasive action...The second buzzing florescent light flicked back on...Rowland still couldn't quite process what detective Saint-Jermaine had just said as he furrowed his brow in confusion... He couldn't compute, he didn't want to, system glitch, h
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